


Lately I've been gone

by Lestradesexwife



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Multi, Multiple Partners, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Polyamory, bakerstrade, johnlockstrade - Freeform, say it with me, stable triangle, this is not johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-11 23:13:19
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3336344
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lestradesexwife/pseuds/Lestradesexwife
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>PWP</p><p>John and Greg are having sex when Sherlock comes home. So he joins in and everyone wins.</p><p>And by wins I mean Orgasms.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lately I've been gone

**Author's Note:**

> Doesn't really fit into any of my long stories. Porn... Just porn.  
> This is my OT3, I love me some Johnlock, but I have to say that Johnlockstrade is my main ship. If this bothers you... please don't read
> 
> Consultingsmartass is the one you should thank, she makes me better.

John’s riding Greg’s cock when Sherlock gets home. And that’s fine because they have agreed that it is fine for them to fuck in whatever arrangements they like. If John and Greg waited for permission, or Sherlock’s presence to fuck they’d never get off… well, that’s an exaggeration, but Sherlock being Sherlock he sometimes needs reminding that sex is good, and can in fact be better than murder.

 

So John is straddling Greg’s lap, and they are in Sherlock’s chair because it is lower and gives Greg better leverage. They hear Sherlock on the stairs and freeze for a moment when he calls a greeting to Mrs. Hudson. John resumes rocking his hips at the sound of the downstairs door closing and only one set of footsteps on the second flight of stairs, drawing a small contented noise from Greg’s throat.

 

Sherlock pauses outside the door. “John?” His voice isn’t loud enough to carry downstairs through the locked door.

 

John lifts himself away from Greg, turns slightly and winces. “Yeah, do you want us to stop?”

 

“No!” High pitched and quick. “No. I… should I go?” Lower, more composed.

 

The room is quiet for a moment and John fancies he can hear the brush of Sherlock’s hand over the door, can picture Sherlock standing close to the door with his head turned slightly, his eyes closed, straining to hear into the room. There’s a chance that it’s too sentimental on John’s part, the hope that Sherlock wants to come in but is giving them the space that he thinks they want.

 

Greg’s cock twitches harder in John’s arse, and he’s staring at the door over John’s shoulder with a hunger John feels echoed in every nerve in his body. 

 

He has to breathe for a moment before he answers. “You don’t have to come in if you don’t want, but we’d like you to.”

 

Greg’s fingers dig into John’s thighs as they hear the sound of Sherlock’s key in the lock. The door opens just enough for Sherlock to slip through, and then he’s just standing beside the door, wild-eyed.

 

John’s heart pounds. He’s never been sure how Sherlock manages to project so much energy, swirl of coat and flash of gunpowder while being so absolutely still. It must be the speed his mind rushes at, but it shouldn’t be possible to see. 

 

John’s body is cooling now that he’s just sitting in Greg’s lap, but neither of them are any less interested, Greg’s cock feels amazing inside him, stretching him open. John tenses his muscles, and they both groan.

 

Greg pushes up into him, head falling back. “ _Sherlock_.”

 

John cocks his head, eyes falling closed as Greg moves in him again. He startles slightly and then pushes into the contact when Sherlock’s hand brushes down the length of his spine. Sherlock still has on his calfskin gloves and John shivers at the touch.

 

Sherlock’s hand rests in the small of John’s back, the other comes up to tilt John’s face up, gentle pressure under his chin to guide his lips up for a chaste kiss.

 

John licks at Sherlock’s lips, trying to draw him in closer. 

 

Greg growls and pushes up faster into John. “You two…”

 

John moans and Sherlock inhales it, drawing the sound into his lungs and turning it into a kiss. 

 

John turns, grasps at Sherlock and tries to pull him closer, making frustrated noises because Sherlock is still fully dressed. He pushes at the layers between John and Sherlock’s skin, gives up and palms Sherlock’s cock through his trousers. It is gratifying to have Sherlock’s cock jump under his palm, amusing when Sherlock’s knees buckle slightly when Greg’s hand joins John’s.

 

John breaks away. “Take your clothes off, I want to fuck you.”

 

Sherlock blushes and looks at Greg.  


“Yeah, take your clothes off, I want to watch John fuck you.” Greg reaches forward and tweaks one of John’s nipples. 

 

John makes an affronted squawking noise and pushes away Greg’s hand, rocking back on Greg’s cock. “We could try that…”

 

“ _Yes_ , get his kit off.” Greg pushes John off of him and makes a vaguely sad noise as his cock slips free of John’s hole. 

 

John stands up slowly, taking his time adjusting to the change of position. “Hmmm, the sofa or the bed?”

 

“Sofa.” Greg answers without pause. “Move the table though.”

 

“You move the table, I’m taking his clothes off.”

 

Sherlock stands back and John takes pity on him, closing the space between them and pulling Sherlock’s head down for a kiss. “Okay?”

 

“We haven’t… in a while.” Sherlock’s brain catches up with the conversation, and he blinks several times to focus on John.

 

“We don’t have to.” John smiles at the small noise Sherlock makes in response. “I’m okay with taking my time too.” His fingers work at the buttons of Sherlock’s shirt, not bothering with the Belstaff. 

 

He distracts Sherlock with kisses and tugging the tails of his shirt out of his trousers, opening the fly of Sherlock’s trouser and running his fingers along the band until he can slide his hands down, under Sherlock’s pants and grab two handfuls of Sherlock’s arse. Inside the Belstaff Sherlock is a furnace.

 

John pulls Sherlock close, pressing himself against Sherlock and enjoying the slightly sinful feel of a mostly-clothed Sherlock against his skin.

 

Sherlock’s hands wander over John’s skin, making John groan and pull Sherlock closer. “Keep the gloves on?” John leans up to whisper in Sherlock’s ear, and Sherlock’s hand dips over the curve of John’s arse and cups him for a moment, not squeezing, just splaying his hand over the cheek. 

 

Sherlock licks his lips and nods.

 

John smiles and drops back to his heels, the leather glove catching at his skin and making his arse bounce slightly as Sherlock’s hand moves.

 

“Mmm, that’s lovely.” 

 

John turns his head slightly to see Greg sitting back in Sherlock’s chair, stroking himself gently.

 

“What? I moved the table, and he’s still dressed.” Greg takes his hand off his cock long enough to gesture at the sofa, which indeed no longer has a coffee table inconveniently placed in front of it. 

 

John’s hands work Sherlock’s trousers and pants down over his hips, slide them down over the back of his thighs until they bunch up around his calves and John is kneeling in front of Sherlock. John settles and looks up quickly before licking a stripe up his cock. When he gets to the tip he wraps his lips around Sherlock’s cock and slides back down, taking him as deep as he can in one swallow. 

 

Sherlock’s head drops and his hands clasp John’s head, the strangled aborted sound of John’s name on Sherlock’s exhale. The Belstaff falls closed as Sherlock cups the back of John’s head and rocks his hips up to meet John’s mouth.

 

John relaxes into it, lets Sherlock set the pace; after all this time Sherlock knows the precise distance he can thrust into John’s mouth without choking him. 

 

The heavy sensation of Greg’s hand joining Sherlock’s on the back of John’s head sends a shiver of pleasure down John’s spine and straight to his cock. He cracks his eyes open and looks up to watch Greg and Sherlock kissing over him.

 

And then Greg’s hand is gone. John moans at the loss until the cascade of Belstaff, suit jacket and dress shirt falls from Sherlock’s shoulders to pool behind him. The cuffs of the dress shirt catch on Sherlock’s wrists and Greg has to pull on them sharply before the cloth gives and Sherlock has his hands free again. Sherlock shifts on his feet and toes out of his shoes, while John catches the fabric of his trousers and pulls the whole mess off, struggling to hold Sherlock’s cock in his mouth as he does. John even manages to hook his fingers around Sherlock’s socks, so that Sherlock curls his toes and tries to balance on the uneven lumps of his discarded clothing.

 

“Sofa, John.” Greg pushes Sherlock’s shoulder back and nudges John with his thigh, urging them both to move.

 

John pushes himself up from the floor and chases Sherlock and Greg across the room. Greg crowds Sherlock down onto the couch and kisses him, stealing John’s breath away as he settles back down between Sherlock’s spread thighs. It’s been ages but the sight of Sherlock passionately kissing Greg hasn’t lost any… John groans and buries his face in Sherlock’s groin, nuzzling until he catches the head of Sherlock’s cock between his lips and sucks Sherlock down again. 

 

Something cool and hard presses against John’s shoulder and he turns his head to look on the next upstroke. Greg’s passing him the pump bottle of lube, not bothering to break away from kissing Sherlock.

 

John lets Sherlock drop from his mouth and accepts the bottle, setting it down between his knees before lifting Sherlock’s hips and dragging him closer to the edge of the sofa. 

 

Greg’s hand drifts along Sherlock’s inner thigh, occasionally brushes against John’s chest or shoulder as John returns his mouth to Sherlock’s cock. 

 

John pumps lube onto his hands, slicking his fingers thoroughly before he squirts a little more onto the pad of his finger and rubs Sherlock’s perineum gently.  

He’s worked his way up to the first knuckle of his index finger inside Sherlock and Sherlock’s hips are trying to rise up to meet his mouth when Sherlock breaks away from Greg.

 

“I didn’t mean… please… John… more.”

 

John sucks Sherlock down to the root one last time, bobbing his head just enough so Sherlock’s cock bumps against the back of his throat before he pulls away. 

 

Greg smiles and sits forward, leaning over to watch as John works two fingers into Sherlock. When John pulls back and slides in with his third finger, Greg slides off the couch and moves around behind John. He spreads John’s knees and arranges their limbs until John is mostly sitting on his lap. Then he reaches between John and Sherlock and pumps lube onto his hand, his chest pressing against John’s back, his cock sliding between the cheeks of John’s arse.

 

John’s breath catches in his throat as Greg’s hand slicks over his cock, rocks his hips into Greg’s fist, chasing the sensation until Greg has him kneeling up between Sherlock’s thighs. John’s hand is trapped between his and Sherlock’s thigh. Greg’s knuckles brush over Sherlock’s shaft and he slides them both together, and he rubs the heads of their cocks. 

 

“That’s my good boys.” Greg’s voice rumbles next to John’s ear and he moans, letting his head fall back against Greg’s shoulder. 

 

“You’re a fucking tease you are.” They are skirting the edges of their daddy kink. Greg’s not sure he likes the idea of being… older, and Sherlock thinks the whole thing is horrifying but also can’t bring himself to fully red on it. 

 

Greg bites playfully at John’s neck, letting go of their cocks. Sherlock’s eyes, bright blue in this light, follow the movement of Greg’s hands, his hips moving against John’s hand.

 

The pump on the lube bottle makes a rude noise as Greg tries to slick his hand again. “Damn! Is there more?”

 

“Nightstand.” Sherlock and John say it almost as one and Greg is headed for their bedroom before the word finishes leaving their lips.

 

John leans forward to kiss Sherlock, working his fingers deeper into Sherlock’s hole as he does. “Fuck, you feel so good, so nice and tight for me, you ready for me?”

 

Sherlock wraps his long fingers around both their cocks and rocks up into him by way of answer. 

 

John’s caught up in it, doesn’t notice Greg coming back into the room until his hands slide down John’s back and spread his arse cheeks. 

 

“Stay like that, yeah, good boy.” Greg’s hand is slick over him, in him and then Greg’s cock is sliding back into him. 

 

John bites his lips together and buries his face in Sherlock’s collar bone. 

 

Sherlock turns his head, nuzzling against John’s ear. “He’s _in_ you John…”

 

Greg gathers John up, pulls him gently away from Sherlock. John whines slightly as Greg slides deeper into him, brushing over his prostate and sending a quick shock of pleasure down his nerves. 

 

“Good boy, John… here… let me help you… feels so good, John… let me help you make Sherlock feel good.” He wraps his arm around John’s torso, under John’s arm, brushes his fingers over John’s chest, gives one of John’s nipples a quick rub before settling on John’s shoulder, holding John close to him and steady. His other hand is wet with lube and rubs over John’s cock again. 

 

John’s fingers slide from Sherlock’s hole, and that’s fine because Greg has a grip on John’s cock, and he rubs the head over Sherlock’s entrance twice before pushing forward with his hips. 

 

If not for the tight hold of Greg’s arm and the hook of Greg’s chin over John’s shoulder John might collapse. John might as well not be there; Greg’s pushing into Sherlock with John’s cock, filling Sherlock up with both of them. 

 

“Lovely.” Greg’s looking down over John’s shoulder, watching John’s cock as it disappears into Sherlock’s hole.

 

John remembers how his arms work and slides his hands up Sherlock’s thighs, pushing them farther apart so Greg can see more. 

 

“Yeah, lovely, John… thank you… Does he feel good, Sherlock?”

 

Sherlock pushes up against John’s hands, tilts his arse towards John so that John slides deeper. “You… you feel…. inside…”

 

Greg pulls John back and rocks forward again, pushing them both deeper. 

 

“Oh! _Greg…_ I!” John’s so close already, overpowered by the dual sensations of fucking and being fucked. 

 

“So good, John.” Greg lets go of John’s hip and slides his hand over Sherlock’s cock. “Can you come for us Sherlock?” 

 

John feels Sherlock’s balls tighten against John’s groin, as Greg works his cock, and he pushes Sherlock’s legs up closer to his stomach as Greg pushes deeper into both of them. 

 

“Yeah, god, Sherlock you are making John come… he’s so tight for me.”

 

And he is, pushed deep into Sherlock, impaled on Greg’s cock, he’d collapse onto Sherlock but Greg holds him tight, keeps fucking him deeper into Sherlock even after he stops coming. “ _Sherlock._ ” John drops one of Sherlock’s legs, uses the free hand to join Greg’s on Sherlock’s cock. 

 

John’s heart is hammering and he’s barely breathing and he’s just about to say something, tell Greg he needs to stop, when Sherlock’s chest flushes red and he comes in spurts on their hands. Sherlock melts into the sofa and Greg pushes John down, bending him over Sherlock to take three long thrusts into John before he comes as well. 

 

There’s time for kissing, for Greg to slip free of John’s arse and collapse sideways, mostly on the couch. Time for Sherlock’s fingers tracing over the curve of John’s spine. Time for John to think about complaining about the state of his knees, time for him to decide he’d rather have Sherlock touching him than move ever again.

 

“That worked.”

 

Sherlock hums under John. “Next time I’m in the middle. I’d like to replicate the results.”

 

 


End file.
